Theodore Roosevelt National Park - The North Dakota Badlands

A visit to Theodore Roosevelt (TR) National Park took its place on my Life Goal List back in 1986 when I learned of it while reading the Wilderness Society quarterly publication in the Purdue Library during a study break. Later, as I developed a fascination and profound respect for TR, I felt a connection with this unique landscape that I had never set foot in. Now that I have walked, slept, ridden, and driven through the oddly sculpted and seemingly broken land while trying to envision the "strenuous life" TR found so endearing I feel even more attracted to it. I also recognized and welcomed the healing and strengthening aura that TR often spoke and wrote of.

A young TR visited the area in 1883, killed a buffalo, and bought into the Maltese Cross Ranch. He returned in February 1884 as a broken man having lost both his mother and wife on the same day. TR started his own ranch, the Elkhorn, about thirty miles north of the Maltese Cross and the town of Medora, ND. Medora had been founded in 1883 by Frenchman Marquis de Mores with his elegant home, the Chateau de Mores (now a museum), and his meat packing plant as primary structures. While de Mores wanted to send meat to Chicago on refrigerated rail cars TR wanted to raise cattle to supply meat to a growing population of settlers and miners.

A bitterly cold 1887 winter killed almost all of TR's livestock, bringing an end to his ranch as an industry, but the event helped formulate and give momentum to his conservation philosophy because it coincided with the mass slaughter of the bison. The bison had been reduced from more than 5,000,000 in 1870 to less than 500 by 1889.

TR also noted the widespread destruction of the landscape as he traveled across the country. He felt that something had to be done. Yellowstone was already an established national park. TR wanted more lands protected:

“It is also vandalism wantonly to destroy or to permit the destruction of what is beautiful in nature, whether it be a cliff, a forest, or a species of mammal or bird. Here in the United States we turn our rivers and streams into sewers and dumping-grounds, we pollute the air, we destroy forests, and exterminate fishes, birds and mammals — not to speak of vulgarizing charming landscapes with hideous advertisements. But at last it looks as if our people were awakening.”

TRNP was envisioned it its first form in 1919, was named the Theodore Roosevelt National Memorial Park by Truman in 1947 and was officially named a national park in 1978. It is broken into three areas called units: South Unit, North Unit, and Elkhart Ranch Unit. They are accessed by separate entrances. The South Unit is entered through Medora and has 35 miles of paved, winding, and hilly roadway featuring a 24-mile loop. The North Unit paved road winds 14 miles to a turn around. I camped next the Little Missouri River in the South Unit Cottonwood Campground. Juniper Campground in the North Unit looked just as therapeutic.

The combination of Medora, the surrounding National Grasslands, and TRNP present a worthwhile reason for visiting the otherwise out of the way plains of North Dakota. The wonderful people I met from all over the world in this park included: elderly Jerry, who took my photo and discussed the Ever After with me - a 30-something couple from Banff, Canada who, like me, dodged the many massive piles of bison scat on their bikes while riding the park road - Lisa and Jenny, a couple from Seattle who were "just wandering," and Jeremy, a Trinity geology major from Ohio whose internship included working the Visitor Center information desk and presenting the ranger geology talk. And then there were the many animals I encountered. Not pictured below is the prairie dog who first played dead on the road and then attempted to run between my bike wheels. It failed, but managed to run away after the neck crush of my rear tire.

Below are some of the sights I captured during my three day visit.

The bison herd is expanding!

You Shall NOT Pass!

Wild horses might not keep me away, but they will cause me delay.

Applying insect repellent

It just happened . . .

The North Unit has a large bison herd and a longhorn herd

Ralph left a mess - I cleaned it up.

Family life in the grasslands

Teddy's writing table in his Maltese Cabin

TR's Maltese Cabin was a quality structure given the time and place

A gentle post race ride on a challenging loop

Steep climbs and descents kept it interesting when absorbing the scenery - and avoiding the bison scat!

Next stop on the tour . . .

USAT Duathlon National Championships

I drove to St. Paul last week with mixed feelings. I left three days later emotionally and physically devastated. I was content to finish the event and would have been extremely excited about a podium finish. Other aspects of life are more important and, as those close to me understand, I currently have greater concerns that keep this in perspective. I simply needed an uplifting experience.

After months of consistent strengthening and stretching my body seemed not only to have returned to balance, it also moved more powerfully and fluidly while walking, running, or riding. Hell, I even sat with authority. My confidence was higher than it had been in three years. One prolonged uncomfortable session of sitting changed all of that and my struggle to regain equilibrium returned just before my season of racing.

For almost two weeks leading up to Du Nats I could not run, but almost miraculously the body relaxed the day before I was supposed to leave. Though a test run went smoothly I did not fully trust my body. I also had the struggle of last year's embarrassing race in St. Paul stamped in my mind. Still, driven by whatever it is that motivates me, I loaded the car and drove to St. Paul. My biking, strong of late, would need to make up for slower running.

Run one went much better than last year as I went out tentatively, but was actually moving at just under six minute pace. Andy and another guy raced off ahead of the pack while I cruised back in 8th-10th place until people began to slow and I found myself in 3rd. Then, when accelerating after rounding one of the u-turn cones on lap two, I felt the hamstring twinge. Reluctantly, I shortened the stride and fell back to 5th entering transition.

The lead pair was about 90 seconds ahead of me when I powered up the 2K 9% Ohio Street climb the first time. There were dozens of riders from earlier waves going up with me. Countless menacing cracks and holes, a creaking bike, and two burning thighs are all I remember about the three passes up that hill. I loved it.

Unfortunately, the long winding descent was interrupted each loop by slower less confident riders. On the first loop I was passed by a guy with a disc just before the sharp turn at the bottom. It was Marcus, who was in my age group and who had left T1 just behind me. He promptly lost control on the sharp high speed turn and almost took both of us out of the race. I would pull away Marcus on each climb only to have him catch me near the bottom of the descent.

On the third descent I caught Andy just as Marcus caught me at that same sharp turn. The three of us entered T2 within seconds of each other and just behind the leader, but I must confess that I pedaled hard right up to the dismount line to close a hundred foot gap the two had opened on me after I dropped gear to ease off on the tight hip/ham. That meant that the top four positions in a very strong age group were within about twenty seconds of each other at T2. I needed and really wanted to do what I have always loved to do in duathlons: throw down a brutally painful second run.

The hamstring had begun to tighten and pull while I was riding, so I knew that the piriformis was knotted up. Unlike last year when I laid down in T2 and stretched, I was caught up in being in T2 with the others. I came out in 4th place and held my position behind Marcus while Andy pushed toward the leader, Fred Bunn, who was leading the age group at nationals for the first time.

Approximately seven minutes into the first loop of run two I decided that I need to pass Marcus strongly and create a gap since the tight leg was not going to allow me to run fast (I'm slow anyway!) at the end. A dozen or so strides into the quicker pace I had pulled within arms length of Marcus when the hamstring locked up. I tried to stay upright, but the leg was immobilized in a bent position so I fell and rolled.

If you've ever had a cramp, say in your arch, then you have an idea what kind of pain I was in. Over the next four minutes I rubbed, stretched, stood, and cursed the leg before falling again as soon as I attempted to move forward. It is all right there in the heart rate/pace file below. Missing from the image is the emotional devastation the incident caused.

The Polar V800 tracked my effort right up to the bitter Man up/Man down ending.

I typed this post in Gardiner, MT near the North Gate of Yellowstone National Park. I've driven 1400 miles since I left St. Paul. The back of that thigh is colored - green and black. Driving does not make it feel better, but the journey, the journaling, the people I've met, and places I have and will see are helping with the mental healing.

I've noticed that the curious followers of this blog have checked in several thousand times since my last post. Though I have not blogged about most of my Spring races or trips, I plan to add posts about my summer experiences (and maybe even insert journal entries from prior events). This introvert certainly would be content with journaling if people weren't interested in reading and looking at the photos. It is my hope that some of you gain satisfaction, a smile, or bit of knowledge from my musings. ST

They seem to have life sorted out.

LBL Road Run 2015

On March 14 I traveled through dense fog and a predawn light rain to Grand Rivers, Kentucky to participate in the Land Between the Lakes Trail Runs. I originally entered the two lap marathon, but a few days earlier I had decided to run the one lap "23K" distance when RD Steve Durbin announced that it was necessary to move the event onto roads because of extreme saturation from snow melt and rain.

I almost did not race. In fact, on Friday night at 10 pm I finished a consultation with Rasputin, an imperial stout, that resulted in me deciding against three hours of driving to run in a predicted rain on roads when I had my heart set on running a trail that I have come to love. I sat the alarm just in case, but I was awake when it went off at 3:45 a.m. Given that I was not in the mood to race - or to suffer - I soon found myself sipping cold pressed coffee and trying to convince myself that a huge effort on a hilly road course in the rain would be a rewarding experience. And that it would be fun!

I topped off the pre-run Calories with a vanilla VFuel while jogging to the start line. Once there I started talking to Chris, an old friend, a talented runner, and the last athlete I recruited while coaching at UE. There was a little confusion at the start as RD Steve yelled something (instructions?) through a bullhorn and then jumped into an SUV. We thought we heard a horn, but we weren't sure, so everyone just stood there. A frantic arm ushered us on and the crowd began the ascent out of the marina. Shortly after beginning to run I realized that I had forgotten to turn on the Polar V800 to allow it to sync with satellites - for the second year in a row. Too much chatting and not enough focusing.

About a quarter mile later the V800 vibrated to alert me that it was communicating with satellites. At that time I was still chatting with Chris. We were leading the pack up the first long grade south on the Trace road. Within three minutes I realized that I was breathing a lot harder than Chris, who was on cruise control, so I slowed a bit and watched as he pulled away. I ran alone for most of the next eighty minutes.

We soon turned onto Kentucky Lake Drive (1.7 mi) and passed the point where the course normally would have accessed the Canal Loop Trail. Continuing on this narrow road was what I had dreaded. I vaguely remembered driving it a couple of years ago on a sunny day, but I clearly recalled the hills along the route: long and winding ones, short and steep ones, long and gradual ones, and a damned near vertical one. There was a fine mist falling and a few patches of fog along this scenic road that often provided pain therapy in the form of bluff top views of the fog shrouded Kentucky Lake.

Baby stepping my way up the steepest hills allowed me to keep my heart rate from exceeding my anaerobic threshold. I was averaging mid-six miles while only going 7:30-8:30 uphill because I opened up the stride and flew downhill as fast as my legs would go. Given that I spent almost a year avoiding hills after my neck injury, I was thankful for the light and cushy HOKA Cliftons that spared me a lot of bone jarring on those fast descents. I used the same pair during the Tunnel Hill 50 back in November. There is no doubt that I will be returning to Ultimate Fit for more Hokas in the future.

Kentucky Lake Drive eventually looped back to the more gently rolling Trace Road at 3.8 miles. At 4.4 miles I took water at the North Welcome Center aid station. Then the course briefly followed a soggy leaf and pine needle covered bike path before turning onto another narrow asphalt road. This road, narrower than Kentucky Lake Drive, reminded me of a those roads that meander through campgrounds. The last 0.8 miles of this road was gravel. Yes, it consisted of a seamless series of hills! And the scenery was absolutely gorgeous!

At 5.7 miles we came to a junction. RD Steve Durbin was there. He lied and told me that I looked great before saying "Go down 1.1 miles and come back." And so I did. I ran down and down and down some more along a narrow old strip of worn asphalt. It was covered with leaves through which the runoff was finding passage. Splash. Splash. Splash. When I finally saw Kentucky Lake again I had dropped to its level. I wasn't looking at it, though. I was contemplating the ascent up a short forty foot high cliff in the road. WTH?

The bottom of the "cliff" comes into view.

That summit was followed by a more gradual drop back to water level at a campsite. Two volunteers instructed me to follow the gravel loop around before returning over that cliff and back up to the junction. When exiting the loop I saw Scott Breeden for the first time. That little stud muffin had caught up to me after 45 minutes during previous LBL runs. I estimated that he was a little behind schedule. Just behind him were three other runners. I had been alone for 45 minutes, but undoubtedly occasionally in view of these runners.

Knowing that they were lurking behind me likely caused me to push that mile long ascent a little harder than I had been going uphill. That put me in distress for the first time. It also kept Scott from catching me until the 49-minute mark. I asked him if he was going all four laps for the 50 miler he had entered. He smiled and said "probably just three." At LBL you are allowed to drop down in distance during the event. I wondered at that point how many people would drop down that day. In case you didn't catch this nugget of fact - Scott had just moved into second on the road between two people running one lap while he was running three. Hence, he's a stud muffin!

Honestly, I increased my effort and stayed just behind him for one short climb and one long ascent in an effort to distance myself from the others in the group he had just gone through. I regained the bike path along the Trace Road just behind Scott and noticed that two other runners were still lingering about 150 meters back. I checked the V800 and saw that my average heart rate had risen from 160 to 162 since I started the climb back to the road junction. Given that I wanted to stay below 164 (86% max), I realized that I had to back off a little. For perspective, I normally average 168-172 in half marathons - when I suffer a lot. Those hills were making me suffer in a different way, so I backed off and watched as Scott pulled away. He was leaving the Welcome Center aid station as I returned to it. A loop there allowed me to see that the same two runners I'd seen before were still close together and not far behind me with about four miles to go.

Note: Scott Breeden ran three "laps" in 4:02:37, which is less than1:21 per lap. Chris won the one lap race in 1:23:45 and I finished third in 1:27:16. Scott's effort puts the rest of our times in perspective. He runs big miles on big hills near Bloomington and is quickly becoming a great ultra trail runner. And, like Chris, he is a really nice guy.

From the North Welcome Center the course retraced the early miles around Kentucky Lake Drive. Yay! Big hills in reverse! It was while approaching mile ten that I heard footsteps behind me. The runner seemed to gain ground on me while we climbed and then drop back as we descended. When he finally pulled along side me at about mile eleven I saw his Nashville Striders singlet. He looked to be about 20. He said that he was only running one loop. I said "We're almost there" and he looked over and excitedly responded "I'm looking forward to a sprint finish!" I smiled and thought have fun with that, whipper snapper. A quick look over my shoulder allowed me to see that no one was within three hundred meters of me at that point. Still, I stayed close to the kid until we reached the Trace Road again.

Before long we both turned onto the finishing straight and, sure enough, I watched as Kevin (the kid) dashed away to the finish line. When I arrived the volunteers saw my number and urged me to continue. Nope. I was done for the day. My legs, though weakened, still felt great at that time, but I knew that another lap would have resulted in significant and long lasting pain. A muffin from the nearby cafe sounded like a more satiating choice. I enjoyed that muffin, a drive home, a ballgame, and a nap while several of my friends made up to three more loops on that challenging course. VERY IMPRESSIVE! Congratulations to all of you!

All in all, I enjoyed another memorable experience at LBL. The race course, which I had premonition of, turned out to be much more enjoyable than I had expected. In fact, I urge Steve Durbin to find another date on the calendar to offer this version of LBL running every year. I would attend and, judging from what I've heard and read, so would a lot of other runners.

Now I need to resume planning another spring break adventure in the mountains of North Carolina. ST